The long, downward glide is finished at last. They are within a thousand feet of the newly-dug trenches when they flatten out, and the camera is released and a series of short, sharp snaps are taken, as the instrument click-clicks. To-morrow, when these are developed, they will tell the divisional commander much that he wants to know, and may explain something which has puzzled him for days past. At the moment, however, when they flatten out, half a dozen Archies, artfully concealed under a clump of bushes, suddenly open fire upon the intruder. "Whis-s-s! Bang!" comes one of the shells and bursts within fifty feet of the 'plane. For a few seconds they are blinded and stunned by the explosion, the flying metal and the deadly fumes. They gasp for their breath, and the aeroplane rocks wildly, but the terrific speed given them by the nose-dive carries them through the maelstrom once more. "Are you hurt, Dastral?" shouts the observer, as soon as he himself regains the power of speech. The pilot turns round just for half a second, and shakes his head, but Jock sees for himself that though he evidently does not know it, Dastral is wounded, for the visible part of his face is covered with blood. Jock, himself, feels that his left arm is useless, and he clenches it tightly with the other. There is no time to waste in words, however, for another peril is at hand. They are soon out of range of the Archies, which, nevertheless, have riddled the planes with jagged holes. No vital part has been hit, however, and the two adventurers are not severely wounded. "Is the engine all right?" shouts Jock, as he sees Dastral peer into the mechanism once or twice. "She's 'pukka' (all right)," comes back the answer. "Then we'd better make for home. Breakfast will be ready. It's nearly six o'clock, and we've been out an hour and a half." Dastral nods, and heads the machine for home, altering the controls again in order to get a good altitude ready for crossing the trenches. As he does so he happens to look away to the eastward, as the machine banks. "Great Scott, look there!" Jock did look, and in a cloud, not a couple of miles away, he saw two specks racing for them with twice the speed of an express train. Seizing his glasses he fixed them for one second upon the objects, to discover, if possible, the rounded marks of the Allies upon the newcomers. Instead, he saw the black cross in a white rounded field, showing distinctly upon both machines. "Enemy 'planes!" he shouted to the pilot. "Himmelman?" suggested Dastral in a half bantering tone. "We're up against it this time, old man. He's the 'star turn' of the enemy's corps, and he fights like the deuce. I would like to have met him upon even terms. As it is, if we cannot leave him and get back with this information, we must fight him." "Open the engine out, Dastral, and I'll bring the machine gun to bear."